


Another Ship Divine

by McEnchilada



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: (as is canon), Alternate Universe - Historical, First Meetings, M/M, Oscar Wilde - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Regina v Wilde, Suicide mention, gender non-conforming Bunny, still set in the Victorian era but with different circumstances than canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McEnchilada/pseuds/McEnchilada
Summary: "The atmosphere of this club—illicit, discreet, and free in a way that the world outside would never allow—made even polite talk such as this seem fraught with significance. What’s more, here, Bunny could trust that he would not misread the meaning in a man’s eyes, or risk offense or worse if he dared make advances. It made him feel bolder, though he stammered as frequently here as he did elsewhere."an AU where Bunny meets Raffles at a gay club on the night of Oscar Wilde's arrest





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao I literally turned this in for class and then changed the names to post this here
> 
> title is from George Ives's poem "We Two," because if there's one thing I love it's 19th century gays

There was a wedding in progress at the club that night, Bunny discovered when he entered the plain-looking building in a clean but nondescript corner of London. The grooms were those gentlemen that Bunny knew only as Basil and James, who had been regulars at the club for as long as Bunny had begun attending. He knew neither of them well, but he applauded along with the rest of the assembled men as they signed the register provided by a smiling clergyman. The vicar himself visited the club regularly, and this was far from the first such marriage he’d performed in this neat, secret parlor.

“To Basil and James,” toasted one man in the corner of the salon. Every man in the room raised a glass cheerily, while Basil bent his head to kiss his shorter husband.

“To Basil and James,” Bunny echoed, lifting and then sipping the whiskey and soda that one of the serving girls had brought him soon after he entered. As the room broke up into groups of those celebrating, and those resuming their usual affairs, Bunny looked around for a familiar face or an engaging conversation he could join. 

His seeking gaze landed on someone he recognized. Whoever she was outside, in here she introduced herself as Peggy, and went by a woman’s mode of address. She wasn’t the only one to do so; the landlady had a room upstairs that served as a toilette for her guests who arrived uncomfortable in their suits and cravats, and even donated her old dresses when she was feeling generous. 

Though he didn’t always feel inclined to indulge, Bunny sometimes chose to spend his evenings here attired and treated as a woman. He loved the way dresses suited him, and loved how silk petticoats felt against his bare legs. It was a freeing feeling, more so than almost anything else he engaged in inside or outside of this club. On the nights that he chose to don such regalia, Bunny spent what seemed like hours simply admiring himself in the mirror in the dressing room; his corset-cinched waist, his shoulders and upper chest bared by a rather daringly low-cut bodice. He looked beautiful. The sheer variety of fabrics, colors, patterns and cuts that women had available to choose from for their closets felt like a dire injustice next to the drab, simple clothing he wore outside the club. He reveled in the chance to dress himself in skirts and delicate lace gloves, to simply be lovely. It was a too-welcome respite from the dictations of a society that meant to determine every action he was allowed to take and every pleasure he was permitted.

He’d laughed aloud the first time he’d dared to wear a dress in the presence of others. He’d never experienced such joy, to be among people who understood and celebrated those particulars which brought them together and set them apart. Simply realizing that he wasn’t alone in the world had felt like salvation.

Before he could cross the room to join Peggy and her companions, however, a stranger appeared before him. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy dark hair and an air of refined and fashionable leisure. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and smiling eyes made for a handsome face, completed by an unscrupulous mouth curved in a smile. He was dressed quite finely, though not as ostentatiously as many of the others in the room. In one hand he held a glass of champagne, which he did not drink from, and a cigarette tucked between two fingers, while his right hand languished in the pocket of his beautiful forest green waistcoat.

“Good evening,” he said politely. He fairly towered over Bunny, who was so struck by the stranger that he had barely the presence of mind to stammer out, “To you as well” in return. The other man’s smile suggested he was aware of Bunny’s sudden case of nerves. He asked, “Are you here as a wedding guest?”

Peggy quite forgotten, Bunny answered, “I am afraid I’m simply a club member. I am not well acquainted with either of the gentlemen, though I certainly wish them every happiness in their union.”

“As do we all, I’m sure.” The man put his cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, and blew out a perfect smoke ring before he spoke again. “You come here often, then?”

“I do, indeed.” Bunny moved his whiskey into his left hand, and extended his right to shake. “My name is Bunny. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Bunny’s hand was clasped warmly, the same warmth echoed in the man’s blue eyes. “A.J. The pleasure is all mine, I am sure.” He did not release Bunny’s hand after they had shook, and Bunny, for his part, made no move to draw it back.

“Do you attend this club as well, then?” asked Bunny somewhat breathlessly. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. I’m certain that I should’ve noticed you well before tonight if I had.” The atmosphere of this club—illicit, discreet, and free in a way that the world outside would never allow—made even polite talk such as this seem fraught with significance. What’s more, here, Bunny could trust that he would not misread the meaning in a man’s eyes, or risk offense or worse if he dared make advances. It made him feel bolder, though he stammered as frequently here as he did elsewhere.

A.J. smiled, and finally let Bunny’s hand drop, though his fingers seemed to linger before losing touch with Bunny’s skin. He indicated with a tilt of his head a pair of horsehair armchairs siting vacant nearby, beside a window that would overlook the street were it not draped with heavy velvet curtains. As the two of them sat down together, A.J. answered, “I’m new to this establishment, though I have made myself familiar with its sisters throughout the city—or brothers, perhaps I should say. So far,” and here his eyes swept over Bunny, from his fair hair to his worn but polished shoes, “I must say, I find this particular rookery to be quite charming.”

Bunny colored with pleasure, and looked away. His eyes traced over the intricacies of the Oriental rug on the floor for a few minutes, while A.J. smoked and the small wedding party in the corner drank once more to the health of the grooms. He longed to say something, to seem witty and bold, but words always seemed to fail him in moments like these. For his part, A.J. seemed content to puff away on his cigarette and gaze at Bunny through half-lidded eyes. Casting about the room, Bunny finally found something to say. “I say, do you care for cricket? George over there plays a spot of it, and I—I’d hoped I might find someone who might accompany me to a match in a week or so.”

In fact, he’d had no intentions of doing so until he found himself saying he did. He didn’t have much interest in cricket, unless he had an interest in the players, but A.J. had the trim, tanned look of an athlete. If the man was amenable, Bunny could bring himself to enjoy watching a match.

A.J. looked across the room to find the man to whom Bunny had referred. George was standing with Basil, James, and a few other men, all quite merry. The cricket player caught A.J. looking at him, and at once his expression lit with recognition. It was unsurprising, as necessarily intimate as such societies as these tended to be, that they would know each other; yet Bunny felt a disquieting trace of envy at the smile that A.J. now wore when he turned back to face Bunny. He looked as though he knew the ending to a joke that Bunny hadn’t even heard, and Bunny wouldn’t have been surprised if such was the case. A.J. appeared to be a man for whom the whole world held an enormous number of jokes, never any at his expense.

“I am quite fond of cricket,” A.J. said after another ring of smoke was lost toward the modestly frescoed ceiling. “In fact, I enjoy playing the game myself. I should be most pleased to accompany you to a match on any day you care to name. Though surely we needn’t wait until then to see each other again?” Rather boldly, A.J. took Bunny’s hand again, his thumb stroking across Bunny’s knuckles in an amorous way that seemed to set Bunny’s nerves alight with giddy anticipate.

Before Bunny could give his flustered reply, however, the proprietress of the private establishment opened the door to let in another guest. Wilson was a frequent visitor, and one well-liked for his friendly, cheerful nature. Tonight, he appeared most uncharacteristically distraught as he snatched his usual whiskey from a serving girl’s tray and threw it back in one gulp.

Many of the men present were already observing his atypical behavior. The rest fell silent when Wilson solemnly announced to the room at large, “Wilde’s just been arrested.”

Bunny’s eyes widened. Oscar Wilde was well known in circles such as this; he and his friend and frequent lover, Alfred Douglas, had at one time or another had associations with many of London’s Uranian sect. Bunny had not had such an acquaintance with Wilde, but he had met him once or twice, in more public venues, and had been quite drawn to the charismatic, witty Irishman. He was enormously popular and well-known, even outside of his literary works, for his smart clothes and smarter humor. Even people who had never set foot in a theatre knew Wilde’s name. A few weeks before, Wilde had filed suit against Douglas’s father, the Marquess of Queensbury, who’d publicly accused him of being a sodomite. Given that the accusation was based firmly in truth, and the abundance of evidence to prove it, it had been a foolish decision to bring the courts into the dispute. More than that, it now seemed an altogether disastrous one.

“But Wil, surely the case just opened?” said Rosemary, one of the girls in Peggy’s corner. “Why, they’ve barely had the time to give their opening remarks.”

“That was enough,” Wilson said, throwing himself in a chair by the fireplace. “They announced that they’d found rent boys who’d testify that Wilde had used them—and I’m sure they did, neither Bosie nor Wilde have ever taken half the care one might expect in this line of business. Wilde finally realized what a damn fool thing he’d done, marching Queensbury into court, and dropped the case, but there was enough of a stir around what Queensbury’s lawyer said he’d been able to find. They arrested him this evening. Lord knows why he didn’t hop a train to the coast before they got to his door, but there it is. He’ll be in chains inside of a week, mark my words.”

After a moment’s silence, the conversations between the score of men in the room resumed all at once. Basil and James, only minutes before a pair of happy newlyweds, now were speaking in low voices together, looking worried. Peggy and her friends spoke more loudly, but no less worriedly. The landlady, still hovering in the doorway, appeared as concerned as her patrons, though Bunny wondered whether that concern was for a feared loss of business. Bunny suspected that many of the men here would be absent for some time.

“Well, the devil take the courts,” A.J. swore, violently stubbing out his cigarette in an enameled ashtray on an end table. He released Bunny’s hand, which Bunny had scarcely remembered was being held, and clasped his own together. His expression was quite grim. “And the devil take Queensbury. He must know that Douglas won’t fare much better than Wilde, when all comes to light. The very idea, instigating this whole affair when one’s own son is poised to hang upon the same rope. A small mercy, at least,” he added, rather sarcastically, “that hanging’s no longer the sentence.”

“Mercy indeed,” Bunny agreed weakly. He felt rather ill, and quite severely shaken. The threat of the law was always present, of course, hanging over his head every time he visited this club or strolled through Hyde Park late at night. He’d learned to live with the uneasiness, without perhaps ever truly believing that he was at risk. 

But if Oscar Wilde, the darling of literary circles, playhouses, and every party he chanced across, could be brought up on such charges, why would Bunny be safe?

He stood up, and addressed A.J. rather abruptly. “I’m afraid I must be going. It was good to meet you.”

A.J. stood as well, looking disappointed but not surprised. Others in the room were saying their goodbyes as well and preparing to leave with their hats pulled low and their collars turned up. The landlady looked quite dismayed.

“A pleasure,” A.J. said, holding out his hand to shake. Bunny’s fingers were trembling minutely, but A.J.’s were quite steady when they clasped hands. “Shall we still watch cricket together next week?”

“I…” The knot in his stomach warred with the hopeful heat in A.J.’s eyes. He dared to squeeze A.J.’s hand slightly before he released it, as he replied, “Not next week, perhaps. But someday, I hope, we may find ourselves meeting again?” The hope wasn’t a lie, though he would have to confess that at the moment, he didn’t believe he would see A.J., or this club, again.

“I understand completely.” A.J. met Bunny’s eyes, and once more gave that smile that told Bunny that a joke had occurred somewhere where he could not hear it. “A very fine evening to you, then, Bunny, and I hope we shall meet again.”

“Good evening.” Bunny managed a smile, and hurried from the room. 

Leaving the club, Bunny wandered through London. He usually chose an indirect route home anyway, a habit born out of paranoia, but his path that night was so aimless as to steer him in the opposite direction of his flat. Streetlights glowed golden in the lingering twilight as he found himself walking down Garrick Street, to Maiden Street and the Strand. He paid no mind to the people passing him by, barely even pausing to stop for cabs before crossing streets.

Eventually, his meandering brought him to the Waterloo Bridge. He stood by the parapet, looking down into the polluted Thames. The water lapped against the stone supports, flowing ever onward to the sea, inexorable as time and elusive as the wind. Despite mankind's efforts to stem its flow, redirect it, and fill it in with so much filth as to turn it toxic, the river pressed on. Bunny morosely admired its persistence.

Leaning out towards the water, Bunny found himself wondering what it might be like, to throw himself to the mercy of the waves. It might be divine, he imagined, to lose oneself in the murky depths. To never again have to fear being caught in another Cleveland Street raid, or his relatives—few and distant as they were—discovering his secret. To never again hear about the psychologists and “sexologists” latest drivel about the cause of the Grecian vice, or about their latest bumbling attempt to discover a “cure.” Other men, some of whom Bunny had known himself, had faced this river as Bunny did now, after having been under the scrutiny of Krafft-Ebing and other so-called experts. Likely many others, tonight, considered the same step that Bunny did.

In a moment, he came back to himself, and stepped back from the railing, shaking his head at his own dismal melodramatics. Tonight was not the first time such a thought had entered his mind, though Wilde’s arrest did seem to create a new urgency. But he never meant to act on the impulse, tonight or any other. 

For a start, he didn’t mean to give the psychologists the satisfaction. What they called shameful, he felt was merely what he was; what they called deviancy was nothing short of splendid. He’d decided long ago that he would not be made to feel ashamed of what he could not help, and did not care to change. To be called a pervert merely because he found love with men rather than with women seemed, to Bunny, to be the real profanation of whatever it might be that God intended. He was hardly a religious man, but he would not believe that he would be condemned before the Lord for love. 

It remained to be seen if he would first find himself condemned by a lesser judge.

The cool night air, and the cathartic consideration of suicide had cleared Bunny’s head of the initial panic he’d felt when he’d heard the news. His steps were more sure, his hands no longer shaking, as he turned towards home. 

He passed newsboys waving the evening papers, catching “Wilde” and “perversion” in the headlines they held above their heads. Bunny ignored them. His earlier despair was giving way to anger, and indignation on Wilde’s behalf. _Le beau monde_ had adored Wilde when his latest play had opened that winter, but within a week newspapers in Paris, New York, Berlin would be decrying his perversion. Even if by some miracle Wilde escaped conviction, his reputation would be beyond salvaging. The high society of any city in the western world would know about his trial, and would never quite forget. Wilde would be made immortal in the worst way. 

Bunny pitied Wilde, but he also pitied himself, and Peggy and A.J., and every other man whom the Labouchere Amendment sought to convict and destroy. He could scarcely credit what made his kind of love so “indecent” that it was criminal. All he knew was that he was sick to his heart from the anxiety he was made to live in. All he wanted was to be allowed to be free.

***

Though there was no mass exodus, as the initial shock of Wilde’s arrest suggested there might have been, Bunny’s club remained rather subdued for weeks afterwards. Many of the members became more drawn and anxious as the spring wore on, and Wilde’s prosecution along with it. He was tried first at the end of April, and released in early May when the jury was unable to reach a verdict. Then, a few weeks later, a second trial had begun. Those following the trial held little hope that this one would be likewise inconclusive. The evidence brought against him would be more than enough to damn Wilde for good.

It was with this near-certainty of conviction in mind that Bunny had come to the club the night after the second trial’s commencement. He’d spent the day getting his rather meager affairs in order and packing up his apartment. He meant to leave London for Dover at the end of the week, and England for France on the weekend. He’d be in ample company; many of his compatriots had already left for the continent, to countries where the law was more lenient. Alfred Douglas had departed in April, as well as many of Wilde’s other like-minded friends, who had reason to fear what might be surmised from their association. Others, like Bunny, had less immediate cause for alarm, but no less longing to leave the scrutiny of England behind them.

“Well, we shall miss you,” Peggy said, when he told her of his imminent departure. She clasped his hand fondly. “I’d come with you, if I hadn’t a wife to concern myself with. I think I’d rather enjoy Paris.”

“I’ll send you postcards about the grand times I have, and make you wildly envious,” Bunny promised, kissing her cheek as he rose to leave. He’d bid farewell to everyone else he knew here already, and settled his final bill with the proprietress. He’d be leaving behind his feminine finery in the upstairs room; it’d be awkward to travel with, and he had hopes of purchasing finer once he got to Paris. His apartment would be let, and the sale of his furniture would be conducted by his family’s solicitor. There was little left for him to arrange before his departure.

As he turned towards the door, he narrowly avoided colliding with someone entering the parlor. The other man put his hands on Bunny’s shoulders to steady him, and Bunny found himself looking up at A.J., the man he’d met on the night of Wilde’s arrest. Though Bunny’d gone to the club many times since (albeit somewhat less frequently than had once been his habit), he hadn’t seen A.J. again. He’d been disappointed, assuming that A.J., in spite of his dashing, devil-may-care front, had been shaken enough to abandon his secret life. It was a relief to see that such was not the case.

A.J. seemed likewise glad to see Bunny. He smiled broadly, and squeezed Bunny’s shoulders briefly before releasing him. “Bunny, isn’t it?”

Bunny grinned back, pleased to have been remembered. “It is. And you’re A.J.?” He asked it only to be polite; he’d thought of the man frequently in the last several weeks, and certainly remembered his name. If anything, he realized that his recollection of A.J.’s lively eyes and charming smile had fallen short of the reality. He felt a flutter in his chest due to the evident interest directed at him by such a handsome man. Praying he didn’t sound like a fool, or a besotted schoolboy, he said, “I’d hoped that I might get a chance to see you here again.”

“I’ve made a habit of dropping by, when I can. A pity we’ve been missing each other.” A.J. paused to extract a cigarette from a silver case, offering one to Bunny as he did. Bunny accepted, and after A.J. lit both cigarettes, and exhaled a smoke ring, he continued, “It’s lucky we have found each other here tonight, if only so I might say goodbye. I’m afraid that this will be my last visit, at least for some time.”

“Why, mine as well,” Bunny exclaimed. A.J. raised his eyebrows curiously. “I leave for the continent this weekend,” he explained. “I’m moving to Paris for…a change in scenery.”

A.J.’s expression lit with surprised delight. He clasped Bunny’s shoulder again, his smile even wider. “I shall see you in Paris, then. That’s where I’m off to, as well. _La ville lumieres, non_?” His accent was far better than Bunny’s, which hadn’t been practiced since boarding school. “I hope,” A.J. added, with slightly more hesitancy, “that I don’t presume too much if I ask to call on you there? It would give me great pleasure to see you again, and it seems a shame if we don’t get to know one another better.”

Bunny felt his face flushing like a schoolboy’s. He cleared his throat and answered, “I very much hope that you will. I’ll be staying at _Le Meurice_ until I find a flat, if you care to look for me there.” He shyly looked up through his lashes. “I shall look forward to seeing you in Paris.”

A.J.’s hand trailed down Bunny’s arm before he let it fall completely, as though he were reluctantly to say goodbye. “You may depend on it,” he promised. As Bunny left the club for the last time, he fancied that he could feel A.J.’s eyes following him, and the lingering touch of his hand.

***

Sunday morning was chilly, a weak sun climbing slowly over the Channel as Bunny waited to board the ferry. Its first load of passengers, arriving from Calais, disembarked to be greeted by a young boy shouting the morning’s headlines: “Oscar Wilde convicted! Playwright sentenced to two years for pederasty!”

The news had followed Bunny out of London the previous evening. It had hardly come as a surprise, but grief still weighed heavily on his chest. He was bitterly pleased to be leaving behind the queen, court, and country that had betrayed one of their greatest minds on such nonsensical charges. Wilde would waste away in a miserable cell, and the world would be the worse for it.

As the ferry departed, Bunny leaned against the railing at the aft end, along with others passengers waving goodbye at the loved ones who’d come to see them off. Gradually, they all went inside to escape the cool breeze off the sea, leaving Bunny alone to watch the cliffs of Dover fade into the horizon. White-capped waves crashed against the chalk as they had done for an eternity, slowly and inevitably wearing the earth away. Bunny lost sight of them before long, but he imagined he could still hear them breaking and resurging endlessly.

Someone leaned against the railing on Bunny’s right, and the scent of cigarette smoke blended with the saltwater odor of the sea. He glanced sideways, and his heart leapt happily. A.J. stood beside him, his blue eyes fixed on the cliffs, and as Bunny watched he blew out a smoke ring like a final farewell to England. As the wind swept away the wisp of white vapor, A.J. turned to Bunny, and smiled. “Onward to Paris, eh?”

Bunny dared to lean closer, so that their shoulders touched. He smiled down at the water below them, stretching out to the ends of the world. “Onward.”


End file.
